James invited me for lunch at his club in Mayfair. We left not long after his arrival as he wanted to eat early so he could beat the commuters on his way home. As I was locking up, the phone rang again. James waited to see if I was going to answer it but instead I raised my eyes to the heavens and followed him out into the street.

The Bar Club in Mayfair was filled with well-heeled gents doing business over champagne and fine wines. James ordered both the wine and the food, and assured me that the Menu of the Day was first class. As my suave companion took charge, I surmised that everything in his life was most probably first class.

Sometimes we miss pivotal moments while we dwell on the minutiae of present dramas. This was one of those times. I suspect my casual acceptance of the attention and flattery over our first lunch together was the fuel that ignited my dead boss’s brother’s passion. We relaxed and chatted about everything. James loved opera, telling me about trips to the amphitheatre in Verona. He was a good skier, and spent his winters in Chamonix. Golf took him to Portugal; he played off a three handicap. His wife and children were given cursory mention but his suave and less-than-subtle flirtation worked. I’d been starved of attention for too long.

‘I hope we can do this again,’ he said as we got ready to leave.

‘Yes. I’d like that.’

At the time I was still so trapped by futile feelings for Mitch I was totally unaware of the effect I was having on other people. If I thought James was merely interested in me as a pawn in the family business, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

‘I’ll call soon,’ he said, offering an outstretched hand once back outside. If the respectful gesture was meant to put me at my ease, the lingering grip hinted otherwise.

25

Rebecca

The red light was flashing on the answerphone when I got back to work. Following on from the two silent calls earlier, my heart skipped a beat.

‘Hi. Linda Stephens here. I got a message to call you. I’m home if you want to ring back.’

It took a moment to register who Linda Stephens was until I remembered she was a teacher who worked with Mitch. I thought she might be able to help so I redialled the number.

‘Hi. It’s Rebecca Carrington returning your call. Sorry, I was at lunch.’

‘No problem. You wanted to ask me something about Mitch?’

‘Yes. I wondered if you knew where he might be. We lost touch over Christmas and I need to give him back some of his things.’

‘No, I’m sorry. He left school at the end of term and I haven’t seen him since the Christmas party.’

‘Do you know anyone who might?’ I was on a roll.